by Jo Graham
Hry’s face split in a wide grin. “That’s wonderful! We know here in the Black Land that children born on the night of Sothis’ rising are beloved of the gods, that those who share the gods’ birthdays are their chosen. It was not misfortune that marked you as Hers, but clear starlight.”
I looked at the horizon where Sothis would appear. It had shone bright and cold before dawn when the black ships had come to Pylos, bright as on the night of my birth.
From the docks of the temple came a great shout and men spilled into the courtyard. From where we were on the roofs I saw other priests like Hry in their robes of office hastening to a small stone building at the end of the quay.
“What is happening?” I asked.
“The river is rising,” Hry said. “The priest had gone to measure it on the stones, and it has begun. Hapi has loosed the waters!” His voice caught, and I realized what great joy this brought him. “The miracle has happened again, and the gods have renewed their covenant with Khemet!”
Hry put his hand on my head. “Tomorrow, Daughter of Wilusa, you will see rejoicing such as you have never seen. Make feasts with your people, for you will share in the bounty of the Black Land as you have shared in her risks and travails this year! I will send fish and wine so that you can honor the gods!”
This celebration is not our celebration. We do not honor the gods at the rising of a star. On the other hand, the People love to celebrate, and do not lightly turn down the gifts of wine and fish. And doing so would indeed be a grave discourtesy to Hry and to our hosts.
Neas, of course, was bid to the great feast at the palace. He left before sundown, oiled and shaved, his skirt worked in many pleats and his belt studded with gold. He gave me a smile as he left, while I worked with Polyra to set up the skewers to roast the fish over the fire. They should be basted in oil to make their skin crispy, and there were sweet melons to eat and bread smeared with honey, melokhia greens chopped and folded into beaten eggs cooked on a flat stone and sprinkled with goat cheese. I wore my new black tunic, made like my last one only not ragged with wear.
“Good night, Prince Aeneas,” I said.
“Good fortune, Sybil,” he said. A smile passed between us, and he was gone.
An hour later bearers arrived from the palace with six great pots of beer, each as high as a man’s waist. “Gracious Lady,” they said, “we are servants of the palace and we met Prince Aeneas as we came in. He told us to bring this beer here, that his People might share in the feast.”
“Trust Neas to remember the beer,” Xandros said. He opened one of the pots and dipped his cup in, draining it in one gulp.
I looked at him speechless, then thanked the bearers and told them to go.
“Xandros,” I said, hurrying back, “did it never occur to you that Neas might not have sent this? That something might be amiss?”
“Of course it did,” he said levelly. “That’s why I drank right off. It will be hours yet before the pots are opened and served out and all of the People drink. By that time it will be obvious if I am all right or not.”
“And if you’re not?” I demanded.
“Then you know to pour it out,” Xandros said. “And what to tell Neas.”
“By all of the gods,” I said, “I wish I could dump you in the Nile.”
“And who would you have me order to drink it? Bai? Kos? Kassander? I am under the curse of the Lady of the Sea, so it matters less what happens to me.”
I clenched my teeth. “Xandros, for the thousandth time, there is no curse!”
“So you say,” he said.
My retort was swallowed up in other people coming up with details about cooking and such things. When I looked for him a few minutes later I saw him sitting with Kos, who had Kianna in his lap while Tia stirred a huge pot of fava beans. “Boiled beans, baked beans, stewed beans,” I mumbled to myself. “The Land of Beans.”
By the time dinner was ready it was clear that there was nothing wrong with Xandros, something he made a point of as he came and sat by me with his bowl. “I feel so very good tonight,” he said pointedly, taking a huge bite of bread.
I ignored him completely.
Night fell, and the stars faded in clear and bright, covering the vault of heaven. And the river as well. As night came up and down the Nile people came to the water’s edge, and soon tiny points of light were sparkling all across the expanse of the river. I walked onto the dock and looked out at the blue distance in the east, the winking dots of fire on the water.
“What’s that?” Xandros asked, coming to stand beside me.
“Hry told me that they make little clay lamps in the shapes of boats to honor Isis, and that people set them to float on the river. It’s good luck and honors Her if they float a very long way before they go out. The ones we’re seeing must have been launched upstream here in Memphis, but before the night is over I imagine we’ll see ones from far up the river.”
“They’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Like stars on the water.”
“They are,” I said. He of all of them saw the magic too, felt it in his bones, felt the touch of Mystery. He and Neas, of all the People.
Sothis rose above the horizon in the wake of the evening star, Cythera’s star. The lights twinkled on the river as they rode up and down on the ripples. Somewhere upriver a barge was lit on the water, the sound of music coming clear to us. A soft breeze tugged at my hair.
Behind us, I heard Kos getting out his drum. A few moments later he started, and the clear male voices of the rowers came in, one soaring young boy high and far above in descant. It was Aren. I had not heard him sing in a very long time, but he knew all of the words. The voices of the People, singing the songs we sing in exile.
The song changed, and it was a merry song, a courting song, Kos’ strong, deep voice leading it. The next voice was Tia’s. I turned around and saw that she stood in the firelight, the glow of the bonfire turning her white dress to flame, a beautiful clear voice with depths like the sea. She was looking at Bai, who sat watching her, Kianna on his lap. The baby was sitting up with Bai’s help, her great gray eyes as dark as the skies, round and bright.
The song ended, and some other drummers started, and I saw the dancing line begin. Not the snake dance yet, but a bright whirl of clothes and limbs made fleet by the beer.
Xandros took my hand. “Come and dance,” he said, and his hand was warm on mine.
“I don’t dance,” I said. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll teach you,” he said. He smiled at me, dear and bright, as familiar as a brother, as strange as the sea.
I closed my eyes for a moment so that I would not see that smile. “I can’t,” I said. “My leg won’t.”
“I’ll carry you,” he said, and put one arm around my waist and whirled me into the dance. My foot hardly touched the ground.
Light and shadow and the dizzying circles of the round dance, Xandros’ bare arms around me, my arms against his chest. I could spin off him on my left foot alone, and he would catch me at the end of each turn, reeling me back to him like a fisherman’s net. Every face I saw was smiling.
At the end of one long turn I came face-to-face with Kos, who was dancing now. “Little priestess!” he said. “I knew Xandros could get you to dance!” He picked me up, smelling like beer and sweat, and spun me around. “Be with us in our joy, Sybil!”
Be with us in our joy. It ran under my skin like a prayer, like the throbbing beat of the drums. Be with us in our joy. Be with us in our joy. Kos was beautiful, every hair of his head precious, every callus on his rower’s hands.
And more beautiful still was Xandros, claiming me back, a big pot of cool beer in his hand. I took it from him and drank deeply. His hair was escaping from the leather thong that held it, and his chest was slick with sweat.
“You can dance,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, and put the beer down. “Dance with me.”
Be with us in our joy. In our joy. The drums rose wilder and fa
ster, the snake dance began, Xandros’ hands on my hips, moving in time to the music.
He caught me out reeling after six or seven rounds, and we drank again. Sothis gleamed clear and cool over the star-strewn water. I leaned back against his arm and we sat on the rail.
“Tonight is the night of my birth,” I said. “I am eighteen years old tonight.”
“So young,” he said, his brow slick with sweat. “I’m twenty already.”
“So old,” I said, “to be a maiden.”
“We can do something about that,” Xandros said, and kissed me.
It was warm and sweet and he tasted of beer and I wanted it to go on and on. My hand rose and caressed his hair, the line of his chin, holding him against me so he could never stop, like there was something starving inside me that I had never imagined. The drums and his mouth, my arms around his bare torso, his hands on my back. Starving. Never letting go.
I don’t know how long it was that we sat like that, locked together. The heavens spun over us and the fire died down. The music stopped and Kos put away the drum. We finally broke apart when Aren leaned over the rail next to me and threw up in the river.
“Too much beer,” Xandros said, surfacing.
“Yes, sir,” he said, looking a little green. If he noticed what I was doing he didn’t care, compared to his state.
“How many tankards?” Xandros asked.
“About five, I think,” Aren said.
“Drink some water and go lie down,” Xandros said. “You won’t feel better in the morning, but you’ll feel better sometime.”
“Yes, sir,” Aren said, and stumbled off.
I felt my head clearing. I hadn’t drunk nearly as much as Aren. I looked around.
The skirt of my tunic was halfway up my legs, where Xandros had been stroking my thigh. Around the fire, no one was left except two or three people who seemed to be sleeping. A moving mass farther down the dock looked like Maris and Idele in a shadow, doing something that didn’t seem at all like my business, but that involved a great deal of groaning.
Xandros touched my chin with one finger, turned my face to him. “It’s not forbidden, is it?”
“No,” I said. “I am forbidden a husband, not a lover.” I looked in his eyes, and I wanted to kiss him again.
I stood up and I saw the hesitation, saw the moment of indecision in his face. I took his hand as he had taken mine to draw me into the dance. “Come with me.”
I led him onto Dolphin, into the bow cabin, and we sunk down together in the darkness, his warm skin on mine. “Love me. Love me,” I whispered, and he laughed and kissed my throat.
He got my tunic off over my head, and I unfastened his skirt and it was a different kind of dance, one I did not know.
I ran my hands over him, learning the shape of him, the soft skin and hard muscles, the dimple at the end of his spine. When I stroked just there with my finger he groaned and buried his face in my hair.
“Do you like that?” I whispered. My fingers ran down his back again and then paused, a breath, and then a moment more, before I stroked just there again.
He pressed tighter against me. “Yes, yes, I like it.” He rolled off me, lying beside me. “But unless you want it to end right now, you’d better wait a moment on that.” His face was strained. It was the oddest power, to see him flushed and hungry, to see him wanting me.
Xandros smiled. Gently, he traced the shape of my nipple, round and round, watching my face.
“Harder,” I said.
He bit his lower lip, smiling, not a nice smile, not gentle at all. “Like this?” He snapped it between his fingers, pulling and stretching.
I squeaked in surprise, but it felt good. “Yes, that,” I said, reaching for him. “Everything.”
It hurt a little at the end, but the longing was greater, my hands clasped behind his hips, pushing and grinding him against me, as though there were something I wanted more and more that I couldn’t even name.
He groaned and bucked and I held him until he slid off me, pulling out and leaving me still yearning. I moaned and arched against him.
Xandros laughed deep in his throat. “I know what you want,” he said, and slid his hand between my legs, rubbing and touching while I pushed against him, almost in a frenzy. There was something I wanted and I was going to have it.
And the world went dark and light and dark again, my hips shaking against his hand, and then I lay in darkness, his head pillowed on my shoulder, his arm around my body.
Our breathing was loud, loud as the muttering of the river against the dock.
“I want this,” I whispered.
“So do I,” he said. One hand made a lazy circle on my stomach, gentle and quiet. “I didn’t know at first that you were so beautiful,” he said.
“I’m not,” I said, and ducked my face behind the curtain of his hair.
“You are to me,” he said. “Do you think your leg matters lying down?”
And suddenly I was laughing, though tears started in my eyes. “I suppose it doesn’t.”
I ran my hands through his long hair, as soft and as dark as mine. “You are beautiful, Xandros. You are everything that is good and true.”
I felt him smile against my skin. “Oh, praise me more.”
I bent my lips to his brow. “I’ve always thought you were handsome. Even the first day I met you. When you nearly killed Aren.”
“I didn’t think you were you the first day you met me,” he said.
“I was me and Her both,” I said.
He was very quiet and I thought he was dozing when he said, “I thought you were beautiful too. I hadn’t thought Death was beautiful before. I mean, it’s almost blasphemy, isn’t it? To see Death walking, Her feet soaked in men’s blood, and find something beautiful in Her.”
“The gods are beautiful,” I said. “Always.”
He kissed me, soft and deep. “But when I carried you onto Dolphin after you fainted, I realized you were a young woman too, younger than me, not a crone. A young woman with a face that could have been my sister’s, under the paint.”
“We are alike,” I said. I stopped. I had never spoken of this, since I was dedicated. “My grandfather was a boatbuilder in the Lower City,” I said quietly. “My mother was his only daughter, before she was taken. She grew up in the shadow of the Great Tower, in the sound of the sea.”
Xandros stroked my hair. “My father was a fisherman, and my grandfather before him.”
“Do you think...Do you think you could have loved a boatbuilder’s granddaughter?”
There was a smile in his voice, as though he told a secret too. “I could have loved a boatbuilder’s granddaughter. A girl who grew up with me in the Lower City, a beautiful smiling girl who loves to dance and really knows how to clean fish.” I pressed my face against his shoulder. “I might have married a boatbuilder’s granddaughter, my dear friend, the sister of my heart.”
Suddenly there were tears in my throat, and I tried to keep my voice from shaking, so I whispered instead. “I could have married a fisherman. If none of this had ever happened, and we were in Wilusa.”
He kissed me, so I didn’t need to say any more. The gods willed otherwise, my mother had said. But they had left us something still.
Xandros snuggled closer, as warm and as close as my shadow.
I lay half drowsing against his arm, ran my hand down his body to his manhood. “You know,” I said sleepily, “the only problem with all this shaving is the stubble.”
Xandros snorted. “It’s kind of a problem on my end too, you know.”
And we laughed and dozed and curled together under the blanket.
I WOKE BEFORE DAWN and knew from his breathing that he was awake. In a moment I heard him get up and go on deck, heard the stream as he made water over the side. Then he came back and lay beside me.
I shifted back against him.
“Are you awake?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “But we don’t need to be.”<
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“No, not yet.” He burrowed his face into my hair.
Somewhere out over the river the first water bird called.
“Xandros?” I said.
“Yes?”
I laced my fingers with his. “Before I was Pythia, before I was Linnea, my name was Gull. My name is Gull.”
I felt his breath against me. “Gull,” he whispered, “is a beautiful name. You are Gull.”
And we fell asleep again in each other’s arms.
INUNDATION
I woke in the morning to find Xandros watching me. Bright sunlight poured in through the chinks in the boards above, making little warm patterns on our skin, like the spots on a cheetah, only in reverse, bright on dark. I saw him and I smiled.
He relaxed a little, and I saw that he had been afraid that I would be angry. “Hello, Xandros,” I said, and stretched one cramped arm.
“Good morning,” he said. He looked down at my side, where the light made patterns. “You’re absolutely certain...”
“...that it’s not forbidden? Absolutely. Completely. I am very, very certain that it’s not forbidden. I would not have done it if it were.”
He raised one eyebrow. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”
There wasn’t much to say to that other than the brutally honest—I would not break my vows for you—but I didn’t want to say that, so I said nothing. Instead I stretched against him. Skin on skin was tremendously sensual, stubble included. And it was quite some time before we got up.
WHEN I FINALLY WENT to help Tia and the other women clean up it was nearly noon. I held Kianna while Tia was scrubbing out one of the big pots, wishing my mouth didn’t taste like stale beer. Kianna made gurgling sounds on my shoulder and pushed at my lap with her little feet. Her legs were getting stronger. She didn’t crawl yet, but she could inch forward on her belly like an earthworm, making little hooting sounds as she did.
“Are you going to marry Bai?” I asked.
Tia didn’t look up from the big pot. “Yes,” she said. “I was afraid to even think about it at first because of Kianna. I mean, babies are a lot of trouble when they’re yours, and you know, expecting him to put up with everything when... I was worried that it wouldn’t work. And so I thought maybe I should wait to think about getting married to anybody until she’s three and goes to you. Kos says I don’t have to get married right now.”